


Run Boy Run

by OverlordYue



Category: Far Cry (Video Games), Far Cry 5
Genre: Canon-Typical Violence, M/M, Mildly Dubious Consent, dub-con because of captor/captive relationship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-14
Updated: 2019-09-14
Packaged: 2020-10-18 09:43:29
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,735
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20637101
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/OverlordYue/pseuds/OverlordYue
Summary: The first time Staci tried to escape, Jacob opened the gates for him and gave him a fifteen minute head start.





	Run Boy Run

The first time Staci tried to escape, Jacob opened the gates for him and gave him a fifteen minute head start.

It was a game, a trick, and Staci knew it even then, but he’d still run. It was only the day after he’d been captured, the cut on his face still bleeding and his muscles still aching. He hadn’t yet come to know the horrors that awaited him at the Veteran’s Center—the music box, the pain, the starvation—and he didn’t know that Jacob gave everyone this chance, a little fifteen minute run before he began the hunt, to leave a lingering _what if _in his prisoners’ minds.

_What if I’d run faster._

_What if they hadn’t caught me._

Fifteen minutes was just long enough for Staci’s lungs to start to burn, for his bruised legs to start to throb, and soon the Chosen dragged him back, struggling and screaming, biting at their hands, crying, wishing that Marshall Burke had minded his own fucking business and that he’d never fucking learned to fly a helicopter.

He was deposited down in front of Jacob, who hadn’t moved since he’d told Staci to run, and Staci felt fear spread through him, making him shake, keeping his eyes on the ground as his cries turned into sobs at the sound of Jacob’s laugher.

“This just won’t do will it?”

Staci sank down, his head pressing into the dirt.

“Well, let’s get started, Peaches.”

_What if I’d been Stronger._

The second time Staci tried to escape, he got surprisingly far. He was tired, aching, and hungry, and there was a song in his head, repeating, over and over, _Only You, Only You, Only You_, and his hands were bleeding as he dug a grave just outside of the Center with two other prisoners. The Faithful supervising them had an eye for the woman working beside Staci, and when he dragged her, dull eyed and complement, towards the tree line, the other prisoner didn’t even look up.

The Faithful had the women on the ground, hands under her shirt when Staci’s shovel connected with his head. Staci didn’t know if the woman ran or what ever became of her—he just took the Faithful’s rifle and ran as fast as he could.

He didn’t know where he was going, didn’t know where was safe, and he wasn’t Strong, but he was fast and he ran and he ran and he _ran._

It was the Judges that found him, hours later, though any amateur tracker would have been able to follow the trail Staci left behind in his panic. He’d tried to be smart, when he’d heard the wolves’ howling getting louder and louder, and he’d tried moving through a steam he found, mudding his scent and trail, but they were too close, and Staci was tired, aching, and hungry.

But he was also itching to fight, to lash out— too long had he been at the mercy of others, too long had he been caged, spat on and sneered at, and when the first Faithful emerged from the woods she took a bullet to the chest. Four more followed her, led by a female Chosen, Judges snarling at their heels, and Staci shot two of the men, putting a bullet in one of the Judge’s skulls before his gun was empty and he threw himself at the red masked Chosen, biting down into her arm and refusing to let go even as she bashed a fist into his skull. He broke through skin and muscle, blood welling into his mouth, and his teeth scrapped bone before a gun connected with his temple and the world went dark.

Staci woke up strapped to a chair, wet from the stream, dripping in his seat, and he stayed there, cold settling into his bones, until Jacob came. He stood over Staci, eyes fiercely bright as they looked down at him. Fear rose in Staci’s throat, and he felt a tremble go through him, but Jacob was calm as he reached out to lift Staci’s chin, forcing him to meet those baby blues.

“You got pretty far there, Pratt.”

Staci must have been dreaming, must have been delusional as he looked into Jacob’s eyes and saw a gleaming, warm sort of pride there, as if Staci hadn’t just slaughtered nearly half a dozen of Jacob’s men and led them on half a day’s chase out into the forest.

Staci wondered, every part of him exhausted, if this was the time to beg for his life, to sob and plead, to tell Jacob he was sorry and he’d never do it again, but as he opened his mouth, Jacob shushed him, pressing a finger over Staci’s lips.

“Shhshhshh, I know you’re sorry, I know, but it’s okay, you see,” Jacob smiled down at him, that odd glint of pride still in his eyes, "I did you wrong, Pratt, kept you cooped up too long, didn’t I? Got bored with nothing to sink those teeth into, huh?”

Jacob’s fingers moved from Staci’s lips to the bruise above his eye, pressing into the darkened skin and making Staci hiss at the sting, baring his teeth, still tasting the blood of the Chosen he’d bitten. The pain drowned out the fear, and Staci could see clearly.

“Guess I’ll have to keep a closer eye on you,” Jacob leaned closer until those icy eyes were all he could see, and Staci felt something stir in him as Jacob’s other hand rose up to card through his hair, brushing it out of Staci’s face.

“You ready to work, Pratt?”

“Yes, sir.”

That night Staci slept in Jacob’s room, handcuffed to the foot of his bed, in fresh clothes that kept out the chill, and in the morning he watched as the guard that had let him slip away was thrown into the Judges’ cage. Staci didn’t look away as the guard screamed, the Judges swarming him, ripping flesh from bone until he finally went quiet, nothing but a bloody mess.

Staci felt nothing but the warmth of Jacob’s hand on the back of his neck.

The third and final time Staci tried to escape, his stomach was full, his mind was clear, and he was very, very aware that if he was caught he was dead.

He’d become Jacob’s shadow, his body learning not to shake and his mind learning to obey, and with time came a looser leash and some twisted, fucked up kind of trust. After a few weeks he was no longer handcuffed when he slept at the foot of Jacob’s bed, wasn’t so god damn skinny after a month of proper meals, and being Jacob’s little pet gave him a certain authority over the Faithful and the other prisoners, and the more authority he showed, the more Jacob smiled, the more he touched him, a pat on the head, a squeeze of the shoulder, a hand cupped around his neck, always “good boy, good boy, good boy.”

The Faithful slowly learned not to fuck with Staci as he evolved from bitch to bastard, going from cowering and whimpering at their sneers to throwing punches and breaking teeth.

Jacob liked Staci with a little blood on his knuckles, and when the day finally came that he backed Staci up against a wall, mouth pressing kisses to his throat and fingers digging into Staci’s hips, muttering “so good for me, getting so Strong,” Staci had arched up against him, cock hard as Jacob left a trail of bites down his neck. Staci had gone to his knees, feeling Jacob’s hands twist into his hair, which desperately needed to be cut, and he’d let Jacob fuck his face until with a groan he’d shot down his throat, Staci swallowing every drop before being yanked to his feet, Jacob’s hands pulling at his belt.

“I need a haircut,” Staci told him before feeling a large, warm hand wrap around his cock.

Jacob had laughed before kissing him, pressing him back against the wall and tasting Staci’s moan as Jacob jerked him off, come splattering over his fingers and onto his jacket.

The next day Jacob had pushed him down into a chair and cut his hair himself, and it was there, with Jacob’s fingers carding through his hair, alone together in Jacob’s room, that Staci learned of his opportunity.

Jacob had found the Wolf’s Den. Eli’s little hideout.

He’d be moving on it at the week’s end to smother the last of the Whitetails’ resistance in the mountains. It was important, it was final, it was something that Jacob himself would lead, and the gears began turning in Staci’s head as he heard the snipping of the scissors, his dark hair falling to dirty Jacob’s floor.

He didn’t have much time to plan, only five days, but the Center would be half empty with the Chosen and Jacob gone. It would be simple, almost easy.

There would be no better opportunity.

That night Staci had waited in his cot for Jacob to turn off the light on his desk, had listened for the creaking of mattress springs and Jacob’ sigh as he settled into bed, then he’d moved, rising and reaching out in the dark for Jacob.

He’d straddled Jacob’s hips, Jacob jerking at the sudden contact, then felt large hands grip his waist. He’d let Jacob fuck him in the dark, moaning every time Jacob snapped his hips up, his fingernails digging into the flesh of Jacob’s scarred chest, and he’d come untouched on Jacob’s cock, shaking and crying out as he felt heat flood his insides.

They hadn’t spoken during or after, Staci collapsing down next to Jacob on the bed, come drying on Jacob’s stomach, and in the morning, Staci was woken by hands on his hips, turning him onto his stomach so Jacob could fuck him down into the mattress while Staci gasped, rocking back into every touch and biting into the pillow.

“_Staci_,” Jacob broke the silence, body molded to Staci’s, whispering into his ear, the sound turning into a growl, over and over again, “_Staci, Staci, Staci_.”

If Jacob caught him, he would kill him.

Of that, Staci was sure.

When the day of the raid came, the Center was abuzz with activity—trucks being loaded, guns being prepped, Faithful praying—but it was all background noise to Staci as he pressed Jacob up against a wall, tasting his lips, kissing him over and over again until the radio on Jacob’s belt crackled to life.

“Sir, all units ready to go.”

“Greedy little thing,” Jacob had had to push Staci away, grinning and bringing his hand up to press fingers into Staci’s mouth to keep it occupied while he answered.

“Roger that, prepare to leave in five.”

Staci bit down, tasting blood, and Jacob would have fucked him right then and there if he didn’t have a Whitetail to kill.

“Can you behave for five minutes?” Jacob chuckled and crooked his fingers in Staci’s mouth, pulling him close, and Staci unlocked his jaw so Jacob could free his fingers and kiss him. He felt a bloodied finger trail from his nose to his forehead, then from one cheek to the other, marking him as Jacob’s own personal Judge as Jacob licked the blood out of his mouth.

“You’ll be good while I’m gone?” Jacob pulled back.

“Of course,” Staci had nodded, and Jacob had left, taking his Chosen and half the forces of the Center with him. The rest were left to guard the prisoners, none were left to guard Staci.

He had left through Jacob’s window, bringing only his uniform, his badge, his coat, and his rifle. Snow hadn’t started to fall yet, but the ground was frozen, and Staci left no tracks as he crossed the grounds and climbed the back wall. No one yelled, no one followed, and Staci was running—no elaborate maneuvers, no fear, just running, heading for the Valley, free.

Staci stayed in the Valley for one month before he cracked. One month of talking with Hudson and Rook, of drinking with allies, of forcing a smile that didn’t reach his eyes. He spent a month playing a part, old Staci, Weak Staci, and he did it well, but sometimes he slipped, said something he shouldn’t have, did something the old Staci wouldn’t have, and he felt their eyes, looking for cracks, looking for a way to fix him when he’d never been so unbroken in his life.

Here, among the Weak, among the prey, he could feel Jacob. He could feel him like a ghost, mixed with Staci’s every breath, dogging his every step-- when he went to sleep at night, when he woke up in the morning, Jacob was there, in the back of his mind. He could feel the ghost of a touch on the back of his neck, could hear Jacob’s scoff in his ear when Pastor Jerome tried to save hopeless souls, and he could feel Jacob’s hand around his when he woke up hard, jerking off in the dark with Jacob’s eyes on his body and Jacob’s name on his lips.

_Did you think you were free?_

It wasn’t always an illusion, not always a ghost, sometimes Jacob would be there, on the TV, on the radio, and Staci would watch and listen, hanging on every word like his life depended on it, drinking it in, letting it warm him, sharpen him. Then someone would turn off the TV, turn down the radio, and Staci would have to act like he didn’t care—he hadn’t been watching anyway, he hadn’t been listening anyway, Jacob didn’t mean everything to him anyway.

“Eli Palmer was weak, and the weak need to be culled. Your hero is gone, time to see the light, to follow the will of the Father.”

_Staci, Staci, Staci_ he seemed to say in between words, with every pause, those icy eyes staring into Staci through the screen, and sometimes Staci couldn’t keep back the shudder, the warmth curling in his throat, _wanting_.

_Come home, Staci._

Hudson tried to talk to him, tried to relate, but John hadn’t been Jacob, and Staci just nodded along, saying words that didn’t matter and smiling smiles that weren’t real until Hudson looked satisfied. The one who saw through him the most was Rook, but they were also the one who understood the most, and they gave Staci no shit, no sympathy, just let him be.

But he cracked. Thirty days in he cracked, his skin itching, desperate to sink his teeth into something, and he didn’t care if Jacob would kill him, he _wanted._

When he felt Jacob’s hands again, they weren’t soft, they weren’t tender, but Staci savored every touch as he was slammed into the floor of Jacob’s room where he’d waited for hours, sitting at the foot of Jacob’s bed. He’d left Fall’s End in the night, taking nothing but his Deputy’s uniform, his coat, and his rifle, leaving his badge behind. He’d gone on foot, moving towards the Mountains, feeling everything drain away, letting Jacob in, hunting for home, and now Jacob had his hands around Staci’s throat and Staci gasped out his thanks for the touch with breathless lungs.

“Thank you, thank you, thank you.”

Jacob fucked him there on the ground, one hand kept around his throat and the other on Staci’s face, the grip painful, keeping Staci’s eyes on his, drowning him in blue, and Staci held onto him, one hand grasping the one on his throat and the other on Jacob’s shoulder, just feeling the flesh beneath his fingers.

“Jacob,” he gasped, feeling the grip on his throat tighten, “_Jacob_.”

“Thought you could just leave?” Jacob drove into him harder, teeth bared, “Thought you could stay away, when this is where you belong?”

Staci couldn’t breathe, couldn’t answer, and he just clutched at Jacob, letting him take what he wanted, what was his, and when Jacob pulled out to come on Staci’s face, he opened his mouth to take that too, the grip on his throat loosing as Staci swallowed. He felt two fingers press into his mouth and be bit down without a thought, tasting blood, tasting Jacob, and he came on both their stomachs, shaking.

“Jacob,” he mumbled around the fingers, his limps going loose, feeling whole, feeling right, “Jacob.”

“Welcome back.”


End file.
